


The Sovereign Remedy

by Arithanas



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Drunk Sex, Frottage, M/M, Post-sex guilt, Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation, Underage Drinking, fruits and spices, kind of dub-con, wine and sweets are a bad combination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bragelonne spends a leave of absence in the Quercy, under the gracious patronage of his friend, Armand de Guiche. The young viscount put himself, without thinking, in the way of his first rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sovereign Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> There may be underage sexual advances, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. Due to historical context, for the purpose of this fanfic, they should be seen as emancipated minors.
> 
> I take this opportunity to thank [Mordioux](http://mordioux.tumblr.com/)for this illustration and for all the encouragement in the production of this collaboration. If you like it, please, show this artist some love!

The weight against his chest was the reason Armand woke up before dawn, it has been a while since he had the pleasure of sharing the bed with another body. The dim light of dawn conceded him to distinguish Raoul de Bragelonne’s clean and sweet lines. His young friend was sharing his pillow; Raoul was naked as he was the day his mother threw him into the world, but he was still a child. Bragelonne’s hands, folded in his chest, over the sheets, just below the silver crucifix he uses under his shirt, like all God-fearing Christian boys do to avoid touching themselves. Well, technically, Raoul was still a good boy because he never touched himself with lustful intent.

Now, if somebody asked de Guiche about touching someone else with that particular intent... well, he was honor bound to keep Raoul’s little secret.

“ _Adspice cognati felicia Caesaris arma_ ,” Armand de Grammont quoted Ovid because his sleep-addled brain conspired with the wine he took last night; to celebrate the occasion with original poetry at such unhallowed hours of the morning was nigh impossible, “ _qua vicit, victos protegit ille manu._ ”

Armand caressed Raoul’s brow to move an impudent tuft of hair because it was ruining the composition. He wanted to bask in Raoul's innocence a bit longer; when Raoul were ready to stir and his spirit were aroused to the new day, all that precious virtuousness would be shattered beyond any recognition.

Art by [Mordioux](http://mordioux.tumblr.com/)

“Sleep well, dearest Raoul.”

***

Bragelonne and Guiche arrived to that diminutive village after sundown, both young men were tired but the night was beautiful, the weather was nice and life was sweet. The silence of the county was too pleasant after the rumble of the muskets in the air and the thundering of hooves in the ground. By the way Raoul's eyes tried to pierce the darkness Armand reckoned his mind was wandering to the days of his youth, and the whole purpose of this trip was to keep him from thinking in his tutor. The sovereign remedy should be applied before the iron will of the tutor could find its rightful spot in Raoul's spirit.

“The service will be here tomorrow, leave your valise on the floor, Bragelonne, they’ll take good care of it,” Armand said in his role of perfect host before guiding his guest to the salon. “For the time being, let me introduce you to the great pleasures of the region.”

Raoul barely had time to sit at the table before de Guiche presented him a couple of dark bottles with an even darker liquid he brought from an adjacent cupboard.

“What is in the bottles?”

“Native wine, Bragelonne!” Armand exclaimed and used his hunting knife to remove the cork, “You will never taste a better wine; take my word for it.”

While the wine was poured in a cup, Raoul recalled all the wise advice he had received on the subject over the years came to his troubled spirit in a mixture:

_If you want to please me, Bragelonne, give wide berth to that pleasure..._

_M. le Comte_ had never told Raoul that wine was inherently unfit for human consumption, or that the great evils of humanity came from a bottle and not out of box, as the myth declared. Raoul knew it was true and that was enough for him, as it had been for years.

_I won't recommend wine to you, Raoul, only pain lays ahead that road and your destination is remorse._

Armand smiled to Raoul and started to pour another cupful, disregarding the way Raoul looked at the cups as if they were molten lead.

_I have tried it, and I have paid dearly for the pleasure of one night._

The queen of the night filled the room with a scent that helped little to Raoul’s dilemma. The air was filled with the delicate perfume he had breathed on summer nights before. Ah, Raoul was yet to find an untrue advice from the mouth of his tutor and that only added to his discomfort.

_Stand firm, Bragelonne, because we know our measure in the face of temptation._

Armand was there, offering temptation with both hands, Raoul shifted his weight on the chair. How could he refuse without showing disrespect to his host? How could he take the cup without betraying his rearing?

_Enjoy whatever pleasure you choose, Raoul, for I'm not to be by your side all your life and you need to make your own mistakes, but be a man the following morning and own your own faults._

God help him own his faults the next morning. Raoul extended his hand and took the cup from his host’s hand.

“To your health!” Armand said and raised his cup in a toast.

“Wait!” Raoul stopped him, “Are you sure we should drink it?”

“Wine is safe, Bragelonne,” Armand raised an eyebrow in amused disbelief, “I believe you have been reading a lot of grotesque literature.”

“Excuse my boorishness,” Raoul averted his eyes and placed the cup in the table, “but my belly is empty.”

“Oh, I assumed you would be parched after so many leagues on horseback…”

“I’m more hungry than thirsty, to be honest.”

With a smile, de Guiche put his cup down and went to retrieve a couple of jars from the cupboard. Raoul watched as he produced a forked instrument to fish the contents of the jar. Inside the vessel, halved apricots swam into a syrupy liquid that smelled faintly like wine, or maybe it was just his suspicion to anything that resembled liquor.

“Apricots from the region, with a little saffron, I hope they are to your liking,” Armand de Guiche announced and fished a piece for himself.

“I’m most obliged,” Raoul said, sticking his forked tool into the fruit.

Armand watched Raoul’s reaction because those apricots had been preserved in local Malbec wine for more than a year, if he wouldn’t eat that then they would need to return to the village to find something edible. Raoul approached the fruit to his mouth and licked the part where the seed used to be, the image conjured lewd images on de Guiche’s mind but he had no time to entertain them for Raoul chewed the fruit and threw his head back and mumbled something unarticulated. Raoul was the living image of delight; Armand felt proud of extracting such an exquisite reaction and began to wonder if all Bragelonne’s pleasures would be expressed the same way.

There was something deeply puritanical in Raoul ―de Guiche always suspected pleasure was not part of his education—, but when Raoul reached for the forbidden fruit with trembling hand, wet eyes, and his tongue dancing over his lips, unable to resist sin for more time, de Guiche felt something very akin to sensual excitation. Gluttony has been the downfall of more Puritan men's than his friend.

“My compliments to whoever has prepared this delicacy...” Bragelonne expressed before going for another morsel.

“I’ll pass them forward,” de Guiche promised and approached the cup to his hand.

“To your health!”

“To yours!”

Those cups barely touched before Raoul dried his, tossing his head back, as if he wanted to get done with it. The sudden revelation came to de Guiche’s head: his friend has never tasted wine before. While his mind raced toward all the potential ramifications of that disturbing and alarming fact, Raoul presented his empty cup for an extra measure. Raoul's face was flushed, Armand found that adorable and that vision lifted all the doubts from his spirit.

There were few faces in Paris that looked more adorable than M. de Bragelonne's when blood came to them and that was twice as lovely in the countryside; the small smile, one can't overlook that adorable smirk and the way in which his nose was trembling. Ah, Raoul was learning new tastes and new sensations and Armand found awfully difficult to resist the need to kiss that blushing face.

Lo and behold! Raoul didn't fight the kiss...

They kissed each other's lips, sharing the taste of the species and the wine, enjoying the movement of that syrupy fruit-flavored tongue. Raoul’s hand lost its grip on the cup and it bounced on the rug, but they cared not about it.

“Wine is so tasty…” Raoul said with an unworried little smile on his lips.

For a couple of heartbeats de Guiche wondered if Bragelonne was aware of the kiss at all, but the quick pace of that fruity and sugary breath against his face reassured him.

“Are you still thirsty or hungry?”

“More wine, please.”

Armand picked up the cup and filled it only to half capacity; Bragelonne was already quite well-oiled with just a glass and a couple of apricots. Just as a precaution against Bragelonne’s reprimand, Guiche ran out his cup and refilled immediately, that way he couldn’t be accused of getting his friend sloshed for his own amusement.

“You were right,” Raoul said and extended his hand to take the fork, “I was parched…”

Raoul’s sensible and clearly articulated words were accompanied by some unsuccessful attempts to pierce the fruit inside the jar; the fork never touched the edge of the jar. Armand tried against all hopes to contain the laughter, it seemed uncharitable. Well, confession was made for those cases... Armand fell about laughing aloud, took the fork from his hand and used it to offer the best morsels to his friend but, even so, Raoul needed three attempts to bite the fruit. De Guiche cupped Raoul’s jowl as the apricot was consumed, very aware of the faint warmth on his friend’s red cheeks.

“Thanks,” Raoul said and smiledto hide his shame; he seemed to perceive his diminished capacity. “My hand is not the steadiest tonight.”

“Perchance you are tired, do you want to lie down?”

Raoul nodded and rose from his chair with a sudden movement, Armand also rose with an alarmed movement and the table bumped against his hip when Bragelonne used it to steady himself.

“I might be a bit more tired than I supposed I was,” Raoul commented with slow and quiet voice.

“Or drunker,” Armand pointed out with a big smile.

Raoul's brow furrowed as if trying to focus on what was about to say, “I’m not drunk, just a bit light-headed.”

“If you say so,” Armand concurred, finishing his third drink.

Raoul nodded again and tried to take a step but his knees gave way and it was a great fortune Armand was there to break his fall.

“Easy, Bragelonne,” de Guiche said passing his arm under Raoul's, “One must be careful after receiving the kiss of Dionysus.”

“Kisses don't work that way,” Raoul tried to argue, but his addled brain was pretty uncooperative.

“What do you know about kisses, Bragelonne?”

“What you have taught me, sir” Raoul's legs failed to support his weight in his renewed attempts, but his politeness was unflawed, “I have not forgotten.”

“I take that as a compliment of my teaching skills,” Armand said very jocularly, resting his cheek on Raoul's hair. “Watch your step.”

“I remember the whole lot very fondly...”

“Yes, I just had proof of it.”

“Oh?” Raoul apparently wanted to say more but, judging for his baffled expression, words didn’t come to his mouth.

De Guiche realized that carrying Raoul up the stairs to one of the guest rooms would be a titanic task. They would have to make do with one of the rooms of the servants out of practicality; Raoul tried to argue something but Armand was more concerned with keeping him walking through the door; Raoul avoided the frame of the door just because God watches over the drunken man and still had the gall to stop and pat the jamb of the door, mumbling something in that quiet, slow and impenetrable voice; he was as completely unintelligible as he was hilarious.

“Come here, Bragelonne,” de Guiche insisted, pulling Raoul by the arm, “Time to sleep for you!”

Armand managed to swing Raoul's weight enough to help him onto a spare bed. Armand bent over Raoul’s disarrayed form to undo some points of Raoul's doublet and was surprised when Raoul's hand took him by the nape and forced him down to steal a kiss from his lips as if he had all the rights.

“Bragelonne!” Armand said as soon as Raoul let him go; he was more amused than outraged.

“Oh, excuse me, I'm completely out of my mind,” Raoul said with half-shut eyes. “And madmen can't be hold accountable. I beseech you, sir, take advantage of my insanity and teach me more of the ways of love.”

Once Raoul said his little speech, he pulled Armand at him again. Instead of absconding from that touch, Armand shrugged and tasted the fruits on those young lips. The kiss was long and sloppy and provided at the same time a pleasant lightheadedness and an excuse for the crime of letting his hand slide inside of Raoul's trousers. Bragelonne gasped in surprise but his hands were not idle, they roamed on de Guiche's back, pulling the soft batiste as if he wanted his friend nude, but he was too clumsy and only managed to roll Armand on the narrow bed; Truth be told, Guiche not put up much resistance.

“Oh, Raoul,” Armand commented, balancing his weight on the edge of the bed, his hand was gripping the sheets, those sliding out of the bed too.

Raoul, the gentleman to the very end, used his fine hand to secure his prey before extending the other toward Armand's fine shirt; for someone so young he was a marvelous pull and soon they both were on their knees, balancing themselves in that rickety bed, searching for each other's lips and tossing their doublets to the floor.

“Oh, teach me,” Raoul murmured, his words were not clear but his intent was evident, “I beg you...”

Raoul allowed to be laid on his back, his doublet was open and the neckline of his shirt was so pronounced that Armand could catch a glimpse of the short hair on his chest, still new and blond; de Guiche lowered his head and kissed the sternum while his hands caressed the valleys and ridges of Raoul chest, M. de Bragelonne, he still needed a bit of thickening for he was almost too wispy under his shirt.

“Please,” Raoul begged, raising his hips with a sudden jerk that permitted his friend to slide the trousers out of his shapely hips.

“I’m on it, Bragelonne,” Armand promised, kissing the thigh, as he unrolled Raoul’s hoses.

Under the dim glow of the moon, Armand was able to find what I was looking for, but he cursed the darkness because there was not enough light to contemplate Raoul’s crotch and appreciate every detail. Nonetheless he bowed his head and Raoul, alarmed by the new sensation, sat on the bed.

“I know, I know,” Armand mumbled caressing Raoul’s ribcage again, pulling that oversized shirt over Raoul’s head, “I went too fast…”

The caresses and the words took their good effect, and Raoul slowly threw his weight backwards, enjoying the kisses that cascaded over his chest and belly until his arms buckled as if he could not hold his weight on the bed but Armand did not let that simple fact interrupt his progress, the prize was within reach and if he refused such a gift of fate, he would regret it the rest of his life.

Armand couldn’t even get closer to his mark, Raoul kicked his shoulder with enough force to tear him apart before searching frantically under the bed, de Guiche assumed he was looking for the chamber pot. With a resigned sigh, Armand leaned over Bragelonne’s back and tried to collect Raoul's long tresses; it would be one less thing to clean.

“Found it!” Raoul said, raising his fist over his head; between his fingers shone a quick flash of silver.

Armand smiled, whatever the thing Raoul has found, it was surpassed by the spectacle of his overturned ass; while Raoul was trying to return to bed, Armand put his knees on either side of the legs of Bragelonne, heading his erection toward the cleft between both buttocks.

“Please…”

With a long arch, Raoul grinded his ass against de Guiche’s crotch and pressed his buttocks to Armand’s taut belly.

“Oh, believe me, you will be pleased,” Armand promised, caressing Bragelonne’s coltish legs. “Regally pleased, if I have anything to say…”

“Help me up!” Bragelonne groaned and tried to raise his chest from the stretcher bar.

De Guiche sniggered when he understood the sort of hassle in which Raoul had put himself and passed his arms around Bragelonne’s chest to pull him up. His laughter turned into a moan when Raoul's buttocks kneaded his hard cock.

“That feels good, isn’t it,” de Guiche taunted and moved his cock a bit into the close-fitting space.

Raoul babbled something incomprehensible and passed his arm behind Armand’s head, a silver crucifix stuck to the sweat on his chest. Accompanied by breath perfumed of fruit, the sound that left the mouth of Raul was a delicious chord of budding desire, perhaps unknown, but craved...

Recognizing that his friend was in no condition to make good conversation, Armand decided to continue the search for their mutual pleasure and let his hands express everything required to communicate in that fortunate situation. Raoul shivered in de Guiche’s arms, he squirmed between those powerful legs and he arched his back when Armand closed his fist over his vigorous young cock. And yet, de Guiche was who fired the first shot.

Raoul didn’t let out any signal as he noticed how de Guiche’s pleasure splashed between his thighs, he just lowered his hands to cup Armand’s butt cheeks, to caress the legs that were keeping him prisoner; the poor thing was not sure of his part on this coupling, Armand guided Raoul’s right hand toward his hair, because that was hindering his game. Raoul followed his cue, exposing his neck with natural languor, maybe it was a product of his drunken state. When Raoul felt Armand's lips caressing his neck he mumbled his plea with winded voice, his left hand was flailing aimlessly in front of them and Armand has to stop it because it was such a distraction.

Armand reached with his right hand and Raoul clasped it and let out a sigh, he had found the only fixed point among the upheaval. Both hands were held against the soft fuzz in Raoul’s chest, in a tight hug. Raoul stopped his futile squirming; he abandoned himself into Armand’s embrace, trusting that refuge among the storm of his own sensations.

De Guiche kissed him under the ear, breathing the smell of Raoul’s hair, guiding his left hand downwards; his fingertips enjoyed the silken touch of Raoul’s new pubes before kneading his crotch with his full hand. Raoul’s cock pulsed against his palm, his testes rolled on Armand’s fingers. Raoul heaved a sigh and arched at the touch; Armand cursed that pallid moonlight, his cheek against Raoul’s felt the change of temperature that proclaimed the most delightful blush.

They swayed together, on their knees, their joined hands raising and falling in crescendo with each heave of Raoul’s chest. Armand felt how his manly bits swollen again while rubbing Bragelonne’s ass but his attention was in the cock in his hand and the way Raoul’s clear pleasure trickled on his fingers, gauging the moment when that adorable naïve among his arms was ready to experience death while keeping his life.

Raoul uttered something unfathomable and turned his head towards Armand, his lips were quivering and his eyes were open wide: the crisis was near. Kissing those lips was a challenge, but de Guiche was undaunted, he melted on Raoul’s passion, but his hand didn’t let go the prey. Wave after wave, each of Raoul’s jolts were received as an acclamation, each of his joyful cries were drowned by Armand’s kisses. The shuddering and the languor were contained by the circle of their arms until Raoul’s eyes fluttered and he was tore from his newly-found paradise and his fingers let go Armand’s.

“My balls are wet,” Raoul complained and withdrew Armand’s arms from around his body.

“That’s entirely my fault,” Armand admitted and tried to find a place in the bed. No, his voice didn’t show any sign of regret. “My apologies…”

Raoul just took the first rag that came to his hands ―which was Armand’s discarded shirt—and wiped the highly honorable seed of the Grammont from his ballsack.

“Come here, Raoul,” Armand called and pulled him to the constricted bed.

Raoul did not protest, he allowed Armand to embrace him, and soon the exhaustion of the day closed his eyes

***

When Armand opened his eyes again the image that greeted him was not to his liking. Raoul was dressed in full and was taking a few steps toward the door, wiping the brim of his hat against his doublet sleeve.

“Raoul!” de Guiche called him, but Raoul only acknowledged the call with a hand signal and abandoned the room with martial gait.

Cursing sunlight and its morning glow, Armand de Guiche pulled on his pants and hastily followed his friend who was on his way to the exit. Raoul didn’t even stop to pick up his valise; he just bent his knees and lifted it over his shoulder in a fluid and graceful movement. Armand could not help bit to admire these buttocks...

“Raoul, wait!”

“I can’t wait, I must find a church, and quickly, before lauds are over.”

“What’s your hurry?!”

“I don’t know how you venture to ask.”

“I got a killer headache…”

“I'm not better,” Raoul interrupted.

“…and I barely understand what is happening…” Armand finished with a lot less of force, Raoul had never interrupted him before.

“Do you remember last night?” Raoul stopped to see how Armand nodded and admitted his participation, “I do and you know well that what we did should be confessed.”

“Ah, Raoul,” Guiche said with his hand resting on his friend chest, “If the good God meant it to be a sin, why would He made it so pleasurable?”

“He did it to see if we are truly divine and not simple beasts; and to let us show restraint in front of temptation.”

“Let's say I believe you,” Guiche pulled Raoul's collar strings, that damned shirt was still open and the skin underneath it was not helping Armand to find the right argument, “if you are desirous and weak, wouldn't He put temptation in your way to show you mercy?”

“I know I'm weak, that's why I try not to be tempted.” Raoul said and took a step back to escape from Armand’s touch

“Ah, my dear Raoul, temptation found you, and you were powerless to its authority...”

“For that reason I must confess and take my penance,” Raoul interrupted, his countenance left no doubt of his resolution.

Armand heard those words with apprehension, trying to keep his composure. This was not Paris where priests hear the most outrageous deeds on daily basis without the fleeting hint of astonishment. Armand was sure this rural priest would not show any leniency to Raoul's short years or to his dubious participation in the whole affair.

“You can't...”

Raoul raised his hand to keep him from speaking. The decision was taken, there was no need for more words and, by the way Bragelonne’s hat fell on his brow, Armand noticed his insistence was distressing Raoul.

“I must, I have shamed myself and I need to come clean.”

“Are you hearing your own words, Bragelonne?”

Raoul only asked him for space to continue his way with a signal. As reinforcement, he kept his right hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Then so be it, do as you please,” Armand took a step to his side, knowing very well Raoul was not the kind of man to waste a threat, “but you've done nothing of what you should be mortified!”

“God will judge that,” Raoul replied to his courtesy with a bow and started to climb down the steps.

***

Armand attended his toilette before following Bragelonne’s steps to the town; he had the tactical advantage of knowing ―by virtue of it being the only church― which the nearest church was in this lost village in Quercy. As the monks were still chanting the holy mass when he arrived, de Guiche found amusement in studying the images of the tympanum. Not that he cared much about the theme of the prophets and the law, but was less interested in exercising his Latin in religious matters, that skill was reserved for pagan erotic poetry.

De Guiche ought to recognize Raoul was useful even in his temper tantrums, because he was able to strike one item from his list: when the Mass concluded, he participated in the general salutation and accepted the greetings and blessings of the peasants on behalf of his father; he even bowed his head when the monks lifted the hyssop in his direction and wondered, ―half in jest, half seriously― how could the crown of his head had not been filled with blisters when holy water was sprinkled over it, but all those amenities ended pretty soon and there was no sign of Raoul de Bragelonne.

Getting ready from the depths of his being, Armand de Gramont, Count de Guiche, entered the small church, ready to drag his rebellious guest should it be the case.

To find Bragelonne, kneeling in the darkest corner―rosary in hand and penitent attitude—did not represent any difficulty. Armand knelt beside him and put his hat on the pew.

“Given that you took your valise with you,” Armand started the attack; his eyes glued to the altar, mirroring Raoul’s body position, “I was afraid that you were going to profess to hide your sin from the eyes of the world ...”

“If not too much to ask, refrain from blaspheming under the church roof.”

“How you tried the confessor? Did you outrage him a lot?”

“I have not taken any sacrament today.”

“Eh? I thought your resolution is quite firm...”

“I had a headache and the mass helped me to cool it down,” Raoul kissed the iron cross on his rosary before pocketing it. “Also, I'm not so sure that's such a grievous sin.”

“I have neglected my Catechism, you will have to explain.”

“Ask me later, when my stomach is not upset.”

Raoul said those words and turned his head toward his friend; he had an almost contrite smile on his lips and all the guise of romance novel hero. Armand longed for that look of surprised pleasure on his face and went to kiss him again but Raoul was quick to raise his crucifix and to put it in Armand's way. Guiche only could taste cold silver instead of Raoul’s lips.

“No,” Raoul voice was stark and dry, “I'm convinced that kisses in a church are profane, if not unequivocally sinful.”

Armand de Guiche sat on the pew and let out a sigh. Raoul was tempted and groped and kissed, but he and his infuriating purity were not defeated yet. Raoul returned his eyes to the altar and bowed his head to that superior power; he still was a good boy.

The idea of conquering Raoul de Bragelonne completely brought a small smile to de Guiche’s face, but that idea took its time to set on that dark country church.


End file.
